


The Assy Adventures of Evie Sasslefrass

by Ophiel



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Gen, Humor, I Don't Even Know, I'm Bad At Tagging, Inappropriate Humor, Light Angst, Light-Hearted, M/M, Other, Rage, Smolquisitor Evie, Tiny Person Rage, eventual angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-17
Updated: 2016-12-13
Packaged: 2018-08-31 13:16:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8579998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ophiel/pseuds/Ophiel
Summary: If there are lessons to be learnt about dealing with the Inquisitor, it is these:Never refer to her as a dwarf, or anything other than a grown woman. Call her a child at your own risk.Never let her smile fool you.Never presume she is as stupid as she acts, and she is very good at acting stupid. The Inquisitor, for all that she is diminutive and apparently air-headed, leads the very organization spearheading the defence of Thedas from unspeakable evils. Behind her are the might of her army, the weight of her diplomatic corp and blades in the shadows. So should you meet her, bring pie. Or a big sword. Either will suffice. ~A letter from Lord Kildran to an unknown recipient.





	1. Ugh. Roderick.

It was soothing here. Familiar rooms, white walls with dazzling blue plaster, shining golden accents in the fittings, stretched out down a hallway into the sunlight of a tall arched window. Dust motes hung in the air, glittering gems in the golden light. The sounds of a carriage upon a gravel drive filled the air, horse’s hooves clopping in a joyful staccato upon the stones.

She was running down the hall, her heart effervescent in her chest, yearning for the sight of the carriage in the sunlight. She was a small child, smaller than most at her age, her hair sticking out in carefully styled curls from her head, her fine dress of silks and lace browned with dirt from the gardens as always. None of that mattered, nothing else did but the carriage in the sunlight.

“Evie!”

She stopped and turned at the sound of a door opening. His voice was warm, and always cheerful. He stood as tall as a giant in her eyes, with his blond hair always well combed, his eyes as blue as the summer sky, while hers were frost. She reached out to tug at his immaculate coat. “Papa’s home!” she breathed excitedly.

“Right,” he murmured, something about his face seemed sad, the way his eyes were distant, the way the corners of his lips lifted half-heartedly. He took her small hands in his and knelt down on one knee before her.

She looked at him, her eyes wide like a doll’s. She could feel his hands shaking. “Eduard?” she said softly.

He smiled and lowered his head. “That’s not Papa, Eve,” he said gently, squeezing her hand. She looked up to see servants emerging from his room, carrying a trunk between them as they passed. She frowned in puzzlement. Then, there came the sound of the front door downstairs opening. Footsteps resounded through the hall, accompanied by the jangle of plate mail. The clipping of steel on the marble rang like a cold chantry bell.

Eduard reached into a coat pocket and drew out a small wood and bass box, the maned horse’s head of their family crest shining in polished brass upon the cover. Her eyes widened and she dropped her wooden sword, reaching for the box with tiny, pudgy hands. “For me?” she breathed.

“For you,” Eduard grinned, placing it in her palm.

Footsteps dulled and thudded upon the grand staircase’s carpet now.

Evelyn opened the cover of the box, which raised on tiny hinges. A tune began to play as a brass drum began to spin within the box. The music box tinkled its song, making the air shimmer with its tune as the dust motes danced.

Shadows blocked the sunlight, falling upon the glittering music box. She looked up to see the bulky, massive forms standing at the end of the hallway before the window, the curves on their armor barely softened by the maroon skirts they wore around their waists. Upon their chest plates, burning swords were emblazoned, shining as if on their own accord, shining brighter than the swords at their hips.

Her hands tightened around the box. A gentle hand ruffled her hair and Eduard stood up. “Keep that for when you can’t sleep, alright?” he smiled, his eyes glistening.

She frowned in confusion. “Eduard?”

“I have to go with them.” He took a step away from her and froze when her hand caught him by the coat tail.

“Why?” she cried, feeling her heart in her throat, her breath hitching.

Eduard turned, his face illuminated with a smile. He gently pried her hand from his coat. “They are going to protect me,” he replied softly.

“I’ll protect you!”

He chuckled and grinned. “I know. Till then, I’ll be following them. I’ll visit you. Promise.”

He turned away from her as she stared helplessly, the lilting tune from the music box in her ears as he walked down the corridor. His form faded into shadow as he joined the towering men at the window, his adolescent form dwarfed by their stature. The blinding sunlight that began to blaze in her eyes. Then he vanished, and the light seared her tears, flaring green and malevolent, blooming in green flames that wrapped their fingers around her body. Pain speared up her left arm, her hand still clasping the tiny box, its music undimmed and rising above the roar of the green fire and her screams.

 

+++++

 

A sound jolted Evelyn from her nightmare. Like a coiled spring, she sprang from the mattress, sitting up. A face looked down at her pale in the firelight. The elf shrank away from her. “I didn’t know you were awake, I swear!” she cried, her voice shaking.

Evelyn felt her breath ragged in her throat, her hand clutching the blanket. It was a cottage, warmed by a lit hearth of river stones. She was on a bed, which was an improvement to the last time she woke up from unconsciousness, bound in chains and manacled. She huddled with her blanket up to her shoulders. “Where am I?” she asked.

Then, as if the life has fled from the elf, she sank to her knees and bowed her head.

“Maker!” Evelyn cried, throwing the blanket off her and swinging her legs out of bed. “Are you ill?” Yet as she rose, the room spun, her knees buckling. “Oh shit.” She tottered and stumbled to her knees, catching herself on the bed with an arm. Everything was spinning. This felt like the worst hangover.

“Herald!” the elf cried, springing to her feet.

Evelyn’s head sagged, her body trembling as the damn spinning in her head made her feel like she was on a ship. “Who’s Herald?” she grunted. “I think I-- I need some help--”

She looked up to see the girl flee from her and out the door, leaving behind a box fallen upon the floor and the door ajar. As the cold air carried snow into her room, Evelyn groaned, her limbs feeling as weak as a new-born babe’s. What on earth had happened to her? There was the Breach and she had closed it and… And everyone was dead.

She pulled her mind from that yawning pit of blackness. She was not ready for that. Not now. Her arms wobbled as she tried to hold herself up. How long had she been asleep? He head drooped as her hand clasped at her blanket on the bed. She could just sleep more, if that helped. Right there on the ground, it looked comfortable. Maybe she would wake up and find all this another nightmare. None of this could be real.

Her stomach twisted with hunger, everything needed to bloody stop spinning. She sagged. Boots rushed forward as her door swung open, and hands caught her shoulders just as she slumped forward. Evelyn groaned and lifted her heavy head. She stiffened instantly at the man before her. “Knight-Captain!” she squeaked, which was a bad idea as the sudden rush made the whole world go black.

 

+++++

 

That was two weeks ago. Now she trudged back to Haven through the snow storm as the village seemed to slumber beneath the roiling clouds. The snow glowed green at night with the light of the breach, the torches by the gate fitfully illuminating the guarded doors with halos of gold. Evelyn’s armor was filthy and in need of a good polish. She also smelled of horse. A chestnut Fereldan Forder walked next to her as she helf the reigns idly. She had named it Lady Puffington. The only welcoming thing about the whole village was the thought of returning to her cottage, having a bath, dressing in something warm and perhaps braiding her horse's mane again.

“Good thing we got the Horsemaster,” Varric muttered, trudging next to her, leading his own horse. “And horses.” She had a small herd with her, being led by Inquisition forces. They had ridden four in from the Hinterlands, courtesy of Master Dennet.

“It will speed up our trip to Val Royeaux,” Evelyn agreed. “And we can guarantee we come home from Orlais to an untouched Haven. No chance of the Rogue Templars and the Apostate mages destroying the place with their stupid fighting.”

“True,” Cassandra said. “We can rest easy in that regard, but we must not get complacent. We still have the Chantry to deal with.”

“Yes, Seeker,” Evelyn said humbly. It was hard to disagree with the Seeker most times. Not that Evelyn wanted to. “Shall we train again tomorrow?”

Cassandra’s eyebrow arched. “Have you recovered?”

“My butt is bruised from where you got me during sparring, but I’ll live,” Evelyn tossed her wavy hair, her head peeking out from the scarf the wore around her neck.

“Stop leaving your blind spot open then.”

“Yes, but shield bashes to the butt is just fighting dirty,” Evelyn pouted. “And you laughed at me. I didn’t even know you had it in you. My poor heart has not yet healed from your scorn, Seeker!”

Cassandra actually laughed again.

“At least you have your shining steed,” Solas pointed out.

“Exactly!” Evelyn grinned, raising a fist. “One step away from a gryphon, right? Now all that remains is for me to be a smart and happy hero!” She pat Lady Puffington on her slender bowed neck.

“The Adventures of the Smart and Happy Herald of Andraste,” Varric mused. “No, still got to work on that title.”

As they walked their horses past the gate to the makeshift stables, there came a strange hubbub from within Haven. The sounds of distant shouts filled the heavy air. “What in the Maker’s name…” she murmured, peering through the open gate.

“Sounds like a riot,” Varric said.

Evelyn handed her reins to Varric and ran up the stairs through the gate, following the noise. There was a crackle in the air, the taste of magic that hung on the tongue. What was going on? Her armor jingled as she ran, finally catching sight of the Chantry. Mages were gathered at the chantry doors, those she recognised around the camps who worked as healers and battle mages. So were the Templars, her brothers and sisters, facing them off. They were lit by the light of the torches they carried, the firelight glinting off steely blade and polished staff alike. She felt the heat in her cheeks rising. She did not spend two weeks in the Hinterlands routing the Templars and Mages to let the war carry on in Haven!

“Your kind killed the Most Holy!” she heard one voice rising over the accusatory cries from both sides.

“Lies! Your kind let her die!” She shouldered her way through the crowd, though many eyes fell on her, glaring as she tried to make her way through the assembled mages. They only saw her armor, not her.

A tall burly mage tried to push her back, elbowing her in the side. “Watch where you’re going, little Templar.” She did not look up as her cheeks colored, but pushed her way past him.

“Our kind was saved by Andraste!” someone shouted. “A templar sent to stop you lot!”

“Don’t you dare!” Evelyn shouted, but her cries were lost in the noise,

“Who’s to say she didn’t kill the Divine?” And the magic crackled in the air as she heard the sound of a blade loosed from its sheathe-- She couldn’t shoulder her way through the damn crowd fast enough--

“Shut your mouth, Mage!”

As she burst through the front of the crowd, the Chantry doors slammed open. With his face blacker than the ice storm that raged overhead, Cullen charged forward. “Enough!” his voice cracked like a whip, but the Templar's sword was already halfway out of its sheathe. His hand caught the elbow of the Templar’s sword hand. Evelyn reached out, her hand flashing blue and dispelling the growing spell as she grabbed the mage's staff. The tinkle of a music box hung in her ears with the flashing light from her palm. The mage turned to her with a glare and pulled his staff from her grasp. She tittered and straightened up. "Sorry, tripped," the mumbled. 

“Knight-Captain--” The Templar grated at Cullen.

“That is not my title!” Cullen snarled, pushing the men apart. His finger stabbed the air before the Templar’s face. “We are _not_ Templars any longer, we are all part of the Inquisition!” The mage averted his gaze from Cullen, his eyes fell on Evelyn instead. She beamed up at him, her hands tucked behind her back as her left hand clenched shut. The mark was stinging, she didn’t want to escalate matters with her mark flaring. And it was singing to her, the tinkling of a music box peppering her mind. Bloody thing didn’t have to take her music box too, in addition to everything else.

“And what does that mean, exactly?”

Evelyn saw the look in Cullen’s eyes change as he barely stopped himself from rolling them. Chancellor Roderick walked up from the crowd, his steps stately and his nose held high. “I am curious, Commander,as to how your Inquisition and its ‘Herald’ will restore order as you’ve promised,” he said, gesturing grandly as if he were giving a speech before the grand Cathedral.

Cullen sneered with all the subtlety of a hammer to the knee. “Of course you are,” he muttered, his voice dripping with distaste. He looked to the crowd. “Back to your beds, all of you!” he barked. The crowd looked from him to Roderick, then back to Cullen's glowering fade. They wisely decided that there were some risks best not taken. The assembled mages began to disperse, with mutters and glances over their shoulders at the Templars, who returned those glances with challenging glares. The mage at the centre of the altercation glared down his nose at Evelyn. She met his scorn with a cheery smile. “Simpleton,” he muttered and stalked off.

The night quietened with the crowd now dispersed. “This is only the beginning, you know that,” Roderick pointed out as Cullen crossed his arms wearily. “Templars and Mages rebelling, blaming each other for the Divine’s death, insulting your false Herald right in front of her, too!”

“No one notices short people,” Evelyn chuckled, looking down at her hand as she joined them. The mark wasn’t flaring, and the music had stopped. That pain was disconcerting, however.

“This,” Roderick said, “is exactly why we need the _proper_ authority to guide them back to order.”

“Who? You? Random clerics not important enough to be at the Conclave?” Cullen asked.

That could have been more tactfully put, Evelyn noted, her thumb rubbing her marked hand through her leather gloves. “So should it be the rebel Inquisition and its so-called Herald of Andraste?” Roderick demanded. “I think not!”

“Oh, come now, Chancellor,” Evelyn smiled. “It’s not that bad, right? So far the Inquisition seems no different than any young family, bickering as we try to work together.”

“What family risks open warfare?” Roderick demanded. “The Chantry is not the upstart here, eager to turn over every apple cart. There can be no working together until the Inquisition recognizes the Chantry’s authority.”

“There is no authority until another Divine is chosen,” Cullen said wearily.

“In due time,” Roderick grated. “Andraste will be our guide, not some dazed wanderer on a mountainside.”

Evelyn burst out laughing. Both men stared. She stopped and cleared her throat. “Sorry, I thought you were joking,” she said.

“Dazed, indeed,” Roderick sneered.

“Oh, Chancellor!” Evelyn sighed, holding up her hands placatingly. “Be reasonable. The Chantry cannot act in time. For the good of the people, should we not act swiftly? Cassandra and Leliana and Cullen and I are all from the Chantry ranks as it is.”

“You? The convenient Herald whose family has always eyed the Teyrn’s throne in Ostwick?” Roderick demanded. “You think Val Royeaux has not noted your family’s reputation? This is exactly why all this should be left to a new Divine! If you are innocent, the Chantry will establish it as so!”

Evelyn’s cheeks colored deeper.

“Or will be happy to use someone as a scapegoat,” Cullen snapped, stepping in.

“You think no one cares about the truth?” Roderick exclaimed. “We all grieve Justinia’s loss.”

“But you won’t grieve if the Herald of Andraste is conveniently swept under a carpet.”

“My lord Chancellor, you know we leave all family ties behind when we take our vows,” Evelyn cut in, seriously worried at the thickening air between the two men. “All the Inquisition is striving to do, your suspicions of my intentions aside, is to restore order. And, you know, stop the mages and Templars from killing each other.”

“Your Inquisition flouting the Chantry’s rules will not help matters.”

“Oh, blessed Andraste,” Evelyn rolled her eyes and looked up at Cullen. “Remind me again why you’re allowing the Chancellor to stay,” she sighed.

“Clearly your Templar knows where to draw the line,” Roderick sneered. “As should you.”

“He’s toothless,” Cullen snorted. “There’s no point in turning him into a martyr simply because he runs at the mouth.”

Evelyn saw the Chancellor’s cheeks mottling with rage. She placed her hand on Roderick’s arm just as the tirade threatened to break loose. “Perhaps we should stop, gentlemen,” she suggested. “This helps no one. And I wouldn’t want you both to wind up scrapping in the snow - as amusing as that might be.”

Roderick brushed her hand off him. “It appears the Templars left out the finer parts of your education,” he muttered.

“Or maybe they did and I fell asleep during class,” Evelyn grinned. “It happened a lot.”

“Maker preserve us if you are the Herald of his bride,” Roderick shook his head with disdain and turned from them, leaving them in the glow of the Chantry door torches.

Cullen was still glaring at the man. Evelyn blinked up at him. “Are you always that tactful or are you making an exception for Roderick?” she asked.

“I was trying to be.”

“I was being sarcastic.”  

“Oh. I thought I was doing rather well.”

Her laughter rang out once more more, then she saw the look on his face. “Oh, you _were_ trying to be tactful?”

“I wish that man would just leave me alone, if I offend him so much,” Cullen sighed, running his hand through his hair.

“He does have that face when he looks at you, doesn’t he?” Evelyn nodded. “You know, the sort that looks like he stepped in a dog turd.”

“What a flattering comparison.” He glanced at her. “I was being sarcastic there.”

“I sort of noticed,” she chuckled, tucking her hands behind her back. “Hopefully, things will be better in Val Royeaux. Imagine walking into a cathedral full of Rodericks.”

“The stuff of nightmares,” Cullen smirked. “I should get back to work. And thank you for stepping in with that mage’s spell. The last thing we want is a riot.”

"Come now, Cullen, you could have stopped it yourself, after all," she beamed up at him, her smile a warm glow as the cold winds tugged at her scarf and his furs. So he detected her dispelling the magic, did he? He was still sharp. She took a deep breath. “Before you rush off,” she said. “There’s something I must ask.” She held her marked hand behind her back.

“What is it?”

She paused, her words stilling in her throat as she looked up at him. He was a veteran, his saw the Fifth Blight and the fall of the Gallows. She had worn her armor for a mere five years, compared to him. What would asking him make her sound like…?

She smiled then. “Nothing,” she said.

He frowned slightly. “Are you sure?”

“I forgot the question, brain like a sieve, forget my own head if it weren’t stuck on,” she tittered and pat her head. “I’d better head to bed. Don’t let anyone riot tonight, Cassandra is really grumpy if she doesn’t get a solid night’s rest.”

He gave that half smile of his that she found so beguiling. “I’ll make sure the walls are standing when you wake,” he said, resting his hands on the pommel of his sword.

She grinned over her shoulder and headed off into the silver-green night, her right hand rubbing her mark. It was fine. Perhaps. Most probably. The twinging and the bizarre surges of power from the mark when she used her Templar abilities, she should be able to control it on her own. It wasn’t a problem. She could learn to control this.

Perhaps.

Most probably.

 

+++++

 

_The Smart and Happy Herald of Andraste (Apparently)_

_Chapter 1 - I Don’t Know What Is Going On?_

_Varric says I should record my actions in a book of some kind. He even offered to look it over for me, something he will regret when he actually starts reading._

_So they are calling me the Herald of Andraste. They say I was saved by the Bride of the Maker because of various reasons I don’t want to harp on. I am far from holy. The Maker could have also picked better than a Templar to wield a magic demon-spew-hole mark. But who am I to question the Maker, right?_

_I don’t know what is happening, only that everyone at the Conclave is dead, including the Divine. And I have lost Eduard’s music box for good._ ~~_I am ve_~~

_Needless to say, the Order is pretty much… gone now. And with the Circles rebelling, so is our purpose. Still, I have landed on my feet with the Inquisition, as it were. I walk among legends and veterans as if I were equal to them, which I am not. They want to bring order back to Thedas, and I’m absolutely in favour of order. Too much chaos, too many deaths. Why be a Templar if not to stop all this madness? To protect them like I couldn’t protect Eduard._

_Since they need my hand, they sort of have to put up with the rest of me. And help me close rifts and the Breach, which is the momma-rift, I suppose, I don’t know, I might have fallen asleep during that lecture during training. Though Knight-Captain Bryony probably did not cover chapters on giant sky arse holes shitting demons. (Can I use arse hole in a book, Varric?)_

_I think the Breach is a disruption of the magical vibrations that make up the veil bound through some force of will possibly negating the veil’s effects within a certain radius that allows demons to cross through but what do I know? All I know is that the mark on my hand closes rifts (and stings like blazes.)_

_Chancellor Roderick is annoying. I wish he'd get off my back about my family. Still, I get what he's saying. He's mired in his ways and I think, or I hope, he is trying to do the right thing. Still annoying._

_At least with the Inquisition, I can requisite all the beautiful swords I want, within reason. I’ve got two now._

_Also, I have a horse I named Lady Puffington. She rode down seven demons and tried to bite another. Ruined the braids in her hair. This was all while routing demon-possessed wolves and raiding Templar and Apostate Mage strongholds. At least that is settled, for now. We have relative peace in our backyard. Now we go to Val Royeaux!_


	2. In Vino Veritas

“Raise another drink! Here’s to Lord Arse Hole Lucius!” 

There comes a point in the night in a pub when, no matter what you shout, everyone was bound to cheer. And the Lion’s Head had reached that point, especially since Evelyn was buying the drinks. The roar rose up from the patrons - nobles and merchant’s alike - along with calls for Lucius to suck on a nug’s arse.  Evelyn downed her glass of West Hills Brandy and slammed it on the table with a lusty grunt. “Ugh, fuck that guy,” she said, her face red from the drink. “I can’t believe he just-- took them!” 

“Yeah, well,” Varric said, holding up the bottle for Evelyn, who managed to get her glass under it after the third try. “No idea why he’d walk off with them?”

“None in the least,” Evelyn replied as their glasses clinked. “I know the Templars have been feeling, well, taken for granted, I suppose? But, no, haven’t the foggiest why they’d all want to walk.” Then, her glass was inexplicably empty. And the room was spinning even more. She pushed the glass aside. “I’m incredibly disappointed in my brothers and sisters. Why are they even following Lord Arse Hole Lucius anyway? Where is the Knight-Vigilant?”

“Who knows that’s going on these days?” Varric said as he drained his glass. “I can’t even be sure if the sun will rise tomorrow.”

“That’s the Maker’s truth. Are you done, Master Dwarf? We’d better head back before Cassandra sends out a search party - another one. For us. I hope she doesn’t. Stop spinning.”

“You’re the one who’s spinning,” Varric said, picking up his jacket and slinging it over his shoulder. Evelyn grabbed their nearly finished bottle of brandy by the neck along with her leather coat, which she pulled over her mail and unmarked breastplate. There were times when the Templar armor was required - drinking in a pub was not one of them. The sword at her hip was enough to stop any untoward attention. She wasn’t in the mood for bar fights, not with nobles, who often could not throw a punch properly to make things enjoyable. 

They stepped out of the perfumed air of the Lion’s Head and into the night streets of Val Royeaux. They were in the nicer part of town, far from the slums and the Alienage. A carriage rolled by, the horses’ hooves clattering upon the cobbled road illuminated by lit street lamps. Already the city was beginning to quiet as the stars glittered above. “Shit,” Varric muttered, squinting in the dark. “Why’s it dark?”

“Night time, maybe?” Evelyn blinked at him. “What’re we s’pposed to be buying again? Biscuits? Cheese?”

“Flowers. For our graves. The Seeker is going to kill us.”

Evelyn nodded mournfully as they headed down the street, returning to their inn. It was barely late afternoon when they had set out on their errand - whatever it was, she couldn’t remember now. She took a swig from the bottle and handed it to Varric. “Hide the evidence.”

“Good idea.” Varric said and he took a long drink. “Also bumbs the pain. Numbs.”

“Hah! Did’joo know Seekers can set fire to the lyrium in our blood?” Evelyn said, leaning against Varric. 

“No? Really?”

“Really - interrogation. No idea how they do it, but they do. Fire. ‘S a fact.” She reached for the bottle and took another drink.

“Why do they do that?” Varric shook his head. “They went and interrogated me, you know. Grabbed me from my house in the middle of the night and interrogated me.”

“Yeah? She do the blood thing?”

“I got no lyrium in my blood. Dwarf.”

“Oh. Right. Mine’s being screwed by the mark.” She looked down at it and it flickered, flaring at her attention. She smacked it out. “Stings.”

“Huh.” Varric looked at the mark. “You should get that looked at - maybe Chuckles might be able to give you a hand.”

“Haha! A hand!” Evelyn grinned and raised the bottle to her lips. The buzzing sound cut through the haze of alcohol. Before her body could move, Varric’s careened into her, pushing her out of the way. They landed in a heap on the ground as the arrow stabbed into the ground. Evelyn and Varric rolled to their feet, their hands on their weapons. Bianca snapped to life, her arms flaring like the hood of a cobra. But even as Varric aimed to the roofs of the buildings that lined the street, there was no one to be seen. “What was that?” Varric grated.

Evelyn sheathed her sword, her heartbeat winding down from its startled whir. “Maker’s balls!” she exclaimed, her face pale. “I am fucking sober now!” She looked down at the arrow, standing straight and quivering between two cobblestones. That was a surprise, she was expecting that the arrow would break upon the stones. Somehow, it had pierced right between them. “Lucky shot,” she said. 

“I don’t think ‘lucky’ is the right word,” Varric said, shouldering Bianca. The parlor on his face clearly showed that the shock has sobered him up too. Evelyn was bending down to untie a rolled note from the arrow. “Sounds like the paper made the buzz,” Varric noted. 

Evelyn unfolded it and pursed her lips as the crude drawings of penises assailed her. There were words in the letter amidst all the penises and butts. Varric too, stilled when he saw the letter. “Did someone try to kill you with a letter full of dicks?” he asked.

“Search for the red things?” Evelyn sputtered, looking at the map on the letter, red dots marking out several locations around the market. She clutched the letter in a fist. “This is abominable,” she snarled. “Whoever did this…”

“Whoever did this probably didn’t mean to kill you,” Varric said, seeing the rising anger in her cheeks. “I mean, they aimed for the cobbles--”

“They made me spill all my brandy!” Evelyn choked. “Unforgivable!”

Varric was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “Are you still drunk?”

“First place is at that poncy dragon head place restaurant,” Evelyn said. “Come on, Varric!” 

“But the Seeker--”

A staunch hand landed on Varric’s shoulder. “Varric Tethras,” Evelyn said, her voice ringing with conviction. “I thought you a man of strength and morality. That bastard shot at us - and that was some damn fine and fucking expensive brandy! We cannot let this stand!” 

“Yes but the Seeker--”

“Is mad at us already anyway.”

Varric burst out laughing then. “I think you are out of your mind.”

She grinned at him and beckoned him on. They headed away from the noble’s district of the city, and found themselves in the marketplace once more. It was night, and yet the market bustled.    


Traders touted their wares, their fine silks illuminated by torch light and the smell of sweet meats filling the air. While the day market seemed to be dominated by the fine gentry, the night market pulsed with energy and life as the city folk and merchants took it over. 

Evelyn and Varric threaded their way past a horse led through the crowd. “Keep your hand on your wallet,” Varric said. 

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Evelyn muttered. She clenched her left fist, her head still buzzing happily. What was she doing? Should the Herald of Andraste be running after thing in the dark at the behest of a letter covered in dicks? No, too much religion got took the mind quicker than any brandy. She had to keep perspective here. And Evelyn Trevelyan, knight or no, was precisely the sort of idiot to run off into the dark without thinking. 

She was beginning to regret this. 

She paused at the sound of music filling the air, the sort of tune clinked out from the brass drum of an grinding organ. Varric bumped into her back. “Geez, Badger,” he muttered. 

She turned to him, her eyes alight. “Varric,” she grinned, the music filling her ears. “It’s a puppet show!” 

“How can you tell? Can you even see?” Varric asked as she craned her neck to see above the shoulders of the gathered audience. 

“Smart arse,” Evelyn chuckled as she turned away, rubbing her eyes with the heel of her hand. Silly memories, foolish pining, wasted tears. Eduard used to carry her on his shoulders to see the puppets. They would hum the songs from the show all the way back to the manor. And she thought of her music box, lost to the crater of the Breach, in return for a mark on her hand. She grinned over her shoulder at Varric, her cheeks barely wet in the lamplight. “Let’s go find the red clues, shall we?”

“Sure,” Varric said, following her. 

 

+++++

 

It had been a long night, and the alcohol was beginning to wear off. Evelyn was thirsty beyond belief, but there was no chance at a drink now. The  had trailed the clues throughout the Market District of the city, from restaurant to dockside to roof pavilion. Clues and hints pointed to the home of a Marquis, a lesser merchant prince of the city. Or so supposed. 

“We really have to work on your sneaking,” Varric muttered as they crept along a fetid alley.

“I’m keeping my heels up,” Evelyn protested with a hiss as she followed behind him. “What am I doing wrong now?”

“You’re rubbing your shoulders on the wall.”

“Oh.” She lifted her body off the wall and followed Varric, sidestepping the garbage strewn about in the darkness. Varric rounded a pile of trash, nearing the split shadows of the gate that opened to the alley ahead. Evelyn felt like a bull in a china shop while Varric, for all his stocky build, moved with all the silence of a right scoundrel. She was rather impressed. Her foot clinked against a bottle in the dark, the sound lancing through the quiet of the silence of the night. Varric shot her a look as she held up her hands in apology. 

Somewhere in the distance, a dog began to bark. Varric paused before the gate and peered inside. Metal picks glinted in his hand as he knelt before the gate. As the picks clicked in the lock, Evelyn loosened her sword from its sheath. She wished she had a shield, or bigger sword. Varric frowned, his fingers manipulating the picks within the lock. Evelyn waited. 

“Still drunk?” she whispered. 

“Please, Badger, have a little faith,” Varric said, and the lock opened. The picks disappeared into one of the many pockets of his coat, and he hefted Bianca. Evelyn opened the gate slowly, the metal barely squeaking. That was rather decent of the lord of the manor, even if he was a conspirator against the Inquisition. Her sword emerged from its sheath with a steely hiss as she set her feet down the way Varric showed her, her boots making no sound upon the slate tiles of the courtyard beyond the gate. 

The back of a manor rose above at the other end of the courtyard. Windows stared out at them like the dark sockets of a skull. Stacks of boxes littered the courtyard. There was a crest on the boxes she did not recognize, a snake and a dragon rising. She peered at it as they crept past. It looked Tevinter. 

She halted, poised like a coiled spring as footsteps emerged from around the boxes. “They’re here!” the guards shouted, drawing their swords, charging them. “It’s the Inquisition! Kill--” A bolt bristled from the neck of one of the guards and he crumpled to the ground. Evelyn charged. The first attack caught her sword, their blades clashing and ringing in the night. Their blades hissed and sparked, coiled serpents entwined as they danced. The strong of the guard’s sword pushed her blade aside, and she didn’t have the raw strength to resist the sheer force of the deflection. She never could match strength for strength, sinew for sinew. She was a small woman in a world of large swords and larger men. 

The tip of the blade lashed to her face. She stepped forward into the thrust, into the blow, moonlight glinting off her blade and the icy shards of her eyes She rising arms crossed as she moved, her sword wrapping around the guard’s blade and pivoting it away. The short of her blade found the opening by his throat as the guard’s thrust lanced by her head so close she could hear it parting her hair. The spray of blood was hot on her face as her blade bit into the jugular of the guard. 

She felt the sword bite into the bone in the guard’s neck. She wrenched her sword free, the body crumpled at her feet, his last breath gurgling from his bloody throat. Then a bell tolled once, twice, its sombre cry like rising over the city. Then it ceased, silence falling like an axe around them.

“Do you think they know we’re coming?” Varric asked. 

“They know we’re Inquisition upon seeing us for the first time. Seems they are well-informed. Might as well see this through to the end. I want to know why this merchant is even conspiring against us. Besides,” she swiped the blood from her sword, red rubies splattering upon the slate of the courtyard, “They hit us first.”

Varric laughed. “You’re sounding a lot like an old friend of mine,” he grinned at her. 

“Oh?” Evelyn replied, climbing the steps and striding towards a door. She could taste it, the rise of magic in the air, the metallic tang upon the tongue. She pulled from the lyrium in her blood, the mark’s sting rising up her arm, and threw the doors open. 

The fireblast sailed by her head as she dodged, her sword rising, flaring as she released the pulse from her body. The second blast of fire met the wave of green that flashed from her body, and flickered out, negated.

It hurt. Her blood felt aflame, and with the alcohol, she felt her stomach turning. She swallowed the bile in the back of her throat. The pain burned into anger as she scowled at the noble who stood in the courtyard beyond the doors. “Inquisition!” he snarled, posturing as Evelyn lowered her sword. Mages she could deal with. “So you come to me at last! How much did you exhaust trying to find me?”

“I dropped my booze,” she said, scowling at the man. “Someone’s going to pay for that. Might as well be you, whoever you are.”

The outraged sputter from behind the man’s mask was gratifying. “You don’t know who--”

“Yah, I don’t know who you are,” she dug it in. “All I know is that I’m rapidly becoming undrunk, the seeker is going to be mad at me and my head is beginning to ache. So start talking!” 

“Good priorities,” Varric muttered. 

“Don’t lie to me!” snarled the noble, pulling at the Veil. Evelyn braced, swallowing the pain in her limbs as she pulled lyrium from her blood. The man clawed his hands, the roar of fire filling the courtyard. “I am too important for you to not know me-” The mark began to sting on her hand, the pain flaring in her blood. “My victories will survive against you--” 

“Oi, danglebags!” 

 

++++++

 

There was snowfall in Haven. It seemed as if the Breach itself stirred the clouds, riling them to spill snow perpetually over the village of Haven. And it was never truly dark, either, with that thing in the sky, bathing the mountainside and frozen lake in its green glow. The light was hidden from Cullen then, as he sat inside his tent. The cedar from the wood-burning stove filled the tent with its spicy sweetness, mingling with the leather of his under armour. His tent was standard Templar issue, and so could barely fit in two cots. With his armor stand and the tiny woodstove he had been given by Thren, he had a small sliver of peace in Haven.

He was seated on his cot, reading reports by the light of his wood stove, with only the tiny fire and his fur-trimmed shawl around his shoulders to keep him warm. It was late and he was happy to be out of his armor. Soon the water in the pot would be hot enough. A cup of toddy before bed chased the dreams and the headaches away. Most of the time. 

There was a scratching at his tent flap. “Yes?” Cullen said. 

“Might I speak with you?” 

It was Leliana. This was unusual. “Of course. Come in.” 

Leliana entered, the cold wind sweeping in behind her until the heavy tent flap fell again. She held a leather folio in her hand. 

“I thought it best to discuss this in private,” Leliana said, shaking the snow from her hood. “I’m certain Chancellor Roderick does not come by your tent.”

“Maker preserve me, I hope not,” Cullen replied fervently, stacking his reports and setting them on his pillow and scooting over on his cot. “Um, have a seat, make yourself at home, such at it is. There isn’t really much room, uh--”

She sat at the foot of the cot and handed him the folio. “What’s this?” he asked and opened it. The name at the top of the document caught his eye. “Oh.” He glanced at Leliana. “Of course, it went to you first.”

“You know all messages come through me,” Leliana said with a slight smile. “Also, I did send the order out for this file before you did.”

“It doesn’t really matter. I would have sent this to you and Josephine anyway.” Cullen flipped through the parchments within the file, his eyes skimming down the words written in a scribe’s utilitarian script. His gaze stilled upon the word he had not expected to see. “So,” he murmured, his honeyed eyes softening. “It is… more regrettable than I thought.” He flipped to another paper, written by an Inquisition Agent of Leliana’s. 

“My agent was able to uncover a little more than the Templar archives recorded,” Leliana said. 

“I notice.”

“The circumstances of Eduard Trevelyan’s sentence to Tranquility are highly suspect, and the charges against him are dire. As are, quite frankly, her actions within the Templar ranks.”

Cullen sighed. “They are. They endangered people. Unacceptable. And, from what I see, she should not have even been a Templar to begin with.” He looked down at the name in the folio, the list of charges, along with donations, gifts, tithes to the Order… 

“I take it you did not know about her circumstances?” Leliana asked. 

“I knew she did not meet the physical requirements of the Order, certainly not for fighting. She’s far too small physically. But I was tasked to train her and so did not question her presence. I did not question a lot of things back then.”

“She tithed her way into the Order, and seems to have spent much of her time looking out for one person in the whole Circle. She was also party to something that led to the death of a mother and the woman’s unborn child.”

Cullen frowned, the image of a tiny woman in armour, curly hair always a mess with a lock on her cheek, grinning at everything. She hummed the Chant when her mind drifted. He was a little surprised at how clearly the memory of her came to him. His eyes drifted down to the charges levelled against her. It was nearly impossible to believe that Evelyn could have done this. “If these charges against her are true, then she has escaped severe punishment.”

“What would you have done?” 

He snorted. “I would have discharged her from the Order immediately and have her thrown into the Gallows for her crime,” he said, a sense of derision in his voice. “And her brother would have been executed. No question.”

“Then it appears she has a habit of escaping.”

Cullen sighed, his eyes troubled. “Yes.”

“It also appears Chancellor Roderick’s assessment of her is possibly correct,” said Leliana. “It seems possible that her loyalties might not lie with the Inquisition.”

Cullen was silent. His jaw tensed. 

“You and I both know, and agree, that Eduard Trevelyan got what might be called a lighter sentence. Even Evelyn was only demoted, thanks to her family’s influence. It would not be wise for the Order to upset one of their most pious donors, after all. Especially with them being so close to the Teyrn’s throne.”

When Cullen spoke, his voice was tight. “The Templar Order should be neutral, and seperate from politics,” he said. “Should be.”

“As should the Inquisition. Still, she was chosen, and given the Mark, for good or ill. I do not know the plan of the Maker,” she said, her voice tinged with a shade of bitterness, “and I do not know  _ her  _ plan.  She has no reason to be here if her brother is still alive somewhere. Looking out for him seems to have been the only thing she used the Order for, and yet she is still here. What does she want, hm? Why strive for the Inquisition without even the slightest desire to seek him out?”

“Why are you asking  _ me _ all this, Leliana?” Cullen asked, shutting the folio with a snap. 

“You knew her, did you not?”

There it was, that hint of… suggestion in her tone. Cullen felt the heat rise in his cheeks. “Not as well as you’re implying,” he said firmly. “Maker’s breath, she was a fifteen year old little princess who couldn’t even lift a sword back then.”

“Oh?” Leliana was watching him.

“Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“Whatever it is you’re thinking,” Cullen snapped. 

She smirked slightly. “I was thinking that, at present, she is a difficult asset to manage. Cassandra can only do so much in the field. What we require is knowledge. Her family’s political aspirations are notorious in Ostwick. Could it be she aspires the same, Templar or no? She is the Herald of Andraste, that sort of soft power is alluring to some of a certain turn of mind.”

“And? What’s your point?”

“My point is that she trusts you,” Leliana said. “Find out what you can, however you can.”

“What?” He stared at her. “Are you asking me to-- to--”

She tittered at the sight of him. “I’m not asking you to do anything untoward, Cullen. Is that what you thought?”

“No!” he snapped, his cheeks aflame regardless.

“I only ask that you talk to her. This is for the Inquisition, Commander,” she said quietly as she stood up. “I do not think Trevelyan will act inappropriately, but we do need to be prepared, whatever arises.” She opened the tent flap, the snowflakes dancing in on the cold breeze. “Keep us apprised. Goodnight.”

Cullen said nothing, his hands gripping the folio as the tent flap fell, ceasing the breath of winter. He stared ahead at the small pot upon his stove, the steam from the hot water rising quickly now, scattered by the breath of his heavy sigh.  


End file.
